


Our Shapes Entwined

by koyori



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Facials, Furuta is a little shit, Kink Meme, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Seriously this has zero plot and I am so sorry, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koyori/pseuds/koyori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illicit office relationships are a good way to pass the time - especially when Arima has an office that no one dares disturb, and Furuta can say things that would make the devil himself blush like a virgin. Haise's just along for the ride. </p>
<p>Kink meme de-anon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Shapes Entwined

There’s a dot of white fluid on Furuta’s left cheek, a mirror image that complements the mole on his right. Haise notices this in the fleeting seconds when Furuta raises his head with a cat-like smile, and loses that train of thought just as quickly, when his cock is engulfed in the silken wet heat of a willing mouth.

He clenches his fists and tries to resist the urge to buck his hips up, but it’s a battle he’s losing quick. Furuta wears tall collars, ties wrapped flush around his pale neck. If he bruises Furuta’s throat now, no one will notice. Haise shifts on the couch, and watches Furuta bob up and down on his cock. Watches his lips clench and his cheeks hollow when he sucks in, taking the length like a natural.

His hair is still perfect, Haise realizes. Every now and then a lock will fall into his eyes, but otherwise it stays put. The sleekness of it clashes too much with the filth on Furuta’s lips, the saliva dripping down his chin as he worships Haise’s cock – Haise wants to reach out and muss it up, hold that head down with both hands.

Except he can’t. Because Arima is sitting on the far end of the couch, with legs crossed and face dispassionate – the only sign that he’s paying attention is his eyes, which periodically flick from Haise to Furuta. Arima’s hands are pinned around Haise’s wrists, holding his arms above his head while Furuta sucks him off. With his back pressed flat against the couch and Furuta lying across his legs, all Haise can do is arch his back into that silken wet touch, wanting more. His breath comes out in pants, starting and stopping in a broken rhythm.

Arima’s office is silent, too silent. Haise presses his lips together to swallow his moans and prays that the hallways stay empty as well. He tries not to think about all the people who have and will sit on these leather cushions – will Arima remember this? Will he fold his hands tomorrow and give a dry, concise presentation to Washuu Yoshitoki, smirk secretly at the Bureau Director sitting in the very spot that Haise is defiling?

“O-Oh,” Haise trembles at the thought, and his wrists lift up against Arima's restraining grasp uncontrollably.

He makes another broken sound as Furuta’s tongue flicks at his frenulum, shattering the silence. Furuta’s mouth constricts around him, and Haise realizes that he’s smiling despite having swallowed Haise almost to the hilt.

They work too well together, Arima and Furuta, Haise thinks through the cloud of arousal enveloping his mind. Not a word exchanged between them, but somehow their coordination was seamless – as if they’d done this multiple times already. Who else had they fucked on this couch? Which other investigators – Ihei Hairu, maybe? Ui Koori? Koori would like it – he’d like being held down by Arima, would like being flung around like a doll by the CCG’s best.

Arima leans over him at that point, his broad shoulders blotting out the light, and a bottle passes between his and Furuta's briefly clasped palms. Again there’s no verbal confirmation, but Furuta soon climbs off him, shifting his weight enough to run gloved hands under Haise’s thighs and push his legs into the air and spread them wide. A slick finger circles his entrance, and Haise groans when Furuta pushes inside and works him open with nimble, practiced movements. The combination of fingers pressing against him and Furuta’s tongue on his cock makes Haise dizzy, makes him want to twist away, makes him want more. He writhes back and forth, and in his abdomen a sweet ache coils and tightens to the breaking point.

Furuta moves away, his mouth leaving Haise cold and exposed to the open air. His hands return to holding Haise’s legs apart, and Haise opens his eyes to see Arima, staring at Furuta with a look that almost resembles curiosity. Furuta nods, the slightest motion.

What happens next is so smooth that they might’ve rehearsed beforehand, Arima and Furuta. Furuta pushes Haise up and rotates him, practically hoisting him into Arima’s lap. Haise feels a solid weight pressing against his lower back, hears a zipper’s hiss and rustling foil and plastic just before Arima lifts him up, wrapping one solid forearm around Haise’s chest.

He has just enough time to exhale before the air is knocked out of his lungs completely, as Arima impales him in one solid thrust.

_Oh God,_ he thinks, trying to suck oxygen into his lungs, trying to stop his eyes from watering. His mouth hangs open, useless – Furuta cups his face and might have kissed him, Haise can’t tell through the overwhelming pressure and sensation. _Oh God, oh God._

“A-Arima -” is all he manages, a sobbing sound erupting from his throat as Arima shifts his position on the couch, seating himself even deeper inside Haise. Arima is – massive is the only word that comes to Haise’s mind; he fills up all the spaces inside Haise and more.

When he’s trembling a little less, Haise comes to two realizations: that his head has lolled back against Arima’s shoulders, and Furuta’s tongue is swiping over the shaft of his cock again. He’s gone soft since Arima entered him, but at Furuta’s touch, Haise’s cock stirs again, and soon he hardens just as Arima begins to thrust, little minute moments that really don’t move Haise much at all – they only make him more aware of the tension in Arima’s thighs as he inches his hips into and away from Haise.

Of course. Arima is invincible and impossible to read, but staying motionless with his cock buried deep in a warm hole would have tested the self-control of any man. Haise tries to relax, and opens his mouth in another gasp when Arima _moves out_ and pushes back in, a combination of delicious friction and wet, slick motion that sends his head tipping back onto Arima’s shoulder again. He feels boneless and weightless, and he dimly wonders if this feels good for Arima – pounding into a rag doll, now that he has taken Haise apart in little pieces, reduced him to a hole to be fucked.

As Arima grabs him by the hips and presses harder, Haise finds that every quickening thrust sends him deeper into Furuta’s mouth. He’s assailed from both directions, either pulled down onto Arima’s cock or pushed further into Furuta’s throat. There’s no pulling away, not when he’s tangled in this impossible web of arousal and desire – even if his hands were free, he has no desire to fight them.

Even if his hands were free, which they are.

Haise reaches out, his fingers trembling, and picks up a handful of Furuta’s hair. Lets it fall against his cheek, the pale skin stained with saliva and precum, before he tangles his fingers in silky locks and nestles the back of Furuta’s skull against his palm. Furuta looks up, and their eyes meet – Haise has just enough time to marvel at how liquid and dark Furuta’s pupils have gone before he comes, pouring himself down Furuta’s throat. Furuta chokes, white droplets forcing themselves past red and swollen lips. He rises up, still on his knees, and kisses Haise with a semen-stained mouth.

Arima takes the time then to dig his hands into the soft skin under Haise’s thighs, forcing his knees higher and open. Haise bites back an open-mouthed moan as the angle shifts, and Arima pinpoints his prostate with one well-calculated thrust, dead on.

“He found it, didn’t he?” Furuta murmurs. Haise comes to appreciate, at that point, how quiet the room has been, given that Furuta’s mouth was mostly occupied with cock until that point. Now that Furuta is able to speak, a stream of irredeemable obscenities pours from his mouth, making Haise want to strangle him even as it brings him unbearably hard. “Your sweet spot, your prostate, whatever you call it. I can see it in your eyes – you look so well-fucked right now. Did you know that your tongue is hanging out of your mouth? Your mind is empty, isn’t it – the only thing you’re thinking about is the dick in your ass.”

Furuta unzips his own trousers and strokes himself, crawling closer as Haise shudders, utterly shaking with the effort of keeping his head up while Arima pounds him with more and more urgency.

“How does it feel, knowing that Special Class Arima is fucking you? I should take a picture for you – you’re stretched so tight around his cock, you know. Skin like an apple, shiny and red, like you’re going to break. Like he’s tearing you apart. I have to say, I really do commend you on being able to take him in your ass with so little effort – did you practice, you little whore?”

“Shut up,” Haise hisses, and hisses again when Arima speeds up his thrusting. He reaches out and grabs Furuta, one hand on Furuta’s tie, the other tugging at Furuta’s shaft in tight, erratic strokes. He thumbs the head, and is rewarded with a hitch in Furuta’s breath, one that Haise matches a second later when Arima’s teeth latch onto his earlobe. He whimpers, as Arima begins to mouth wet circles into his neck.

Furuta’s smile widens.

“Did you dream of this moment, about Arima taking you and making you his personal cockslut? You should tell him, Sasaki, you should be honest. Say it. Say, ‘Arima, I’m your whore, I’ll fuck you in broad daylight, in front of the entire CCG, because I want your dick that bad –’”

“Shut up -”

“Tell him you’re his perfect whore,” Furuta whispers, his own voice now cracking on the last syllables. “Because you are, aren’t you?”

Haise can’t, even if he wants to. He’s incoherent, words long lost to meaningless sobbing and desperate cries of want. He looks down, and imagines that he can see his abdomen expanding with the shape of Arima’s cock pressed against it. Maybe at this rate it’ll leave a permanent imprint. He’s on the brink, he’s been on the edge for so fucking long. Arima keeps hitting him in that spot with perfectly timed thrusts – if the man would only stutter, something, anything so that Haise can tell if Arima’s about to come too – he might be begging, mouthing Arima’s name into empty air, wishing for the burn between his legs to find release. Arima’s hips drive up, his deepest thrust yet, and low in Haise’s stomach the coil snaps; he comes for the second time with his eyes squeezed tight and his vision blazing white.

When Haise recovers enough to raise his now-heavy eyelids, he sees Furuta with a stripe of white across his cheek, the remains of Haise’s second orgasm dripping off his face. Arima pulls out of him, semi-hard, leaving Haise to stand on weakened legs with still-warm lubricant running down his thighs. He watches Arima dispose of his condom in the trash can beside his desk, and wonders if the janitor might notice. Furuta, gathering up his clothes from the floor, snickers.

Arima pushes him to sit on the couch with motions almost tender, and says in his ear, “Wait here, I’ll be back with a towel.”

_Of course I’ll wait, I can’t move_ , Haise wants to reply. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. As he drifts off to sleep, he hears Furuta’s laughter.

“Did you have fun, Kissho-san?”

“You’re still hard,” Arima replies, diplomatic as ever. “Would you like me to take care of that?”

“Please, if you would.” A pause. “You were right about him. He’s good.”

“Yes,” says Arima. “He’s good, isn’t he. Kaneki Ken.”

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me ~~Papa Arima~~ Father for I have sinned ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
